


who can say what dreams are?

by courfeyrock



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Gen, I had to write this, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfeyrock/pseuds/courfeyrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The strangest thing about Moritz’s eyes opening is that he’s relieved when they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who can say what dreams are?

The strangest thing about Moritz’s eyes opening is that he’s relieved when they do. He’d convinced himself that he wanted to die—buried his hopes so deeply—when really all he wanted to do was live. He wants—now—to feel the sun slowly heating his face, even with the redness it sometimes leaves afterwards. He wants to dip his feet in the cool water that somehow always manages to calm him down, but most of all, he wants to hear Melchior’s voice again.

He had wanted to live, he realizes, but he didn’t have the strength to live in agony. Understandable, but in retrospect he’d live through a thousand bad days just to have a good one again. Moritz had wanted the feeling of childhood back, and he realized too late that he could have had that with Ilse.

Or maybe not. _I—I need to go find her,_ he thinks, and it is only in thinking that does he realize that something is wrong. He doesn’t feel an ounce of pain, and he doesn’t know where he is. He sits up, trying to make sense of it all. It takes him a moment, but he quickly spots a girl sitting in the corner of what he now realizes is a room—all gray, no doors—and walks over to meet her.

As he gets closer, he realizes—

“Wendla!” he calls out, his voice echoing in the nearly empty space.

When she looks up, Moritz is shocked at the tears in her eyes. He kneels down beside her and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I—It’s okay,” he says, because really, he has no idea what’s wrong or what to do about it. He tries to perk up, for her sake, but it comes out too forced, too wrong. “God, Wendla, I haven’t seen you in years! Remember back when we were kids, and we used to—“ He stops for a moment, a pang of anguish striking him when he remembers Ilse.

 _I’ll find her,_ he tells himself. _And then we’ll both be okay._

Meanwhile, Wendla tries to wipe away her tears. Moritz pretends he doesn’t notice how they stain her face, how it seems like she’s been crying for years.

“Wendla,” he begins. “How am I alive? D-did you do this? You were always so good at taking care of people. Thank you, Wendla, I mean it. How did you find me? Also—where’s Melchior?”

At the mention of Melchior, Wendla’s eyes grow damp once again. Moritz didn’t know why, but it makes him instantly regret asking.

“Never mind about Melchior,” he says. “I’ll see him soon enough, I guess.”

Wendla’s looks up at him with wide, doe-like eyes and trembling, pale hands.

“Moritz, I—I’m sorry but I—“

“Sorry? Please don’t be, it’s okay. I don’t know why you’re sad, but believe me, I’ve been there—there’s no need to apologize.” The relief of being alive had sent Moritz into a state of complete ecstasy, and he allows himself a smile for the first time in a long time.

“No—oh no—it’s just that—you’re not alive, Moritz, and neither am I.”

Moritz feels his stomach knot up at her words. It can’t be—not after—it can’t be—

“Mama sent me—I knew—I knew it was wrong. She left me alone, and I—“ Wendla chokes back a sob as she speaks. “And now I’m here. I knew. And you—God, Moritz—I knew you were absent but I never thought—what happened to you?”

It begins to make sense to Moritz now—there seems to be no other explanation. _But I can’t be—I don’t want to be—I shouldn’t be—dead?!_ Moritz feels the familiar tremble return to his hands now—the sick feeling in his stomach and the overpowering urge to get out—out of this place, out of his skin, out, out, out.

“I’m so sorry, Moritz, it was wrong of me to ask, I shouldn’t have—“

“I shot myself,” he says, the weight of what he had done hitting him all at once.

“Oh, Moritz, I—you—I didn’t know, I—“

“And there’s no way you could have, Wendla,” Moritz says, sighing. “Don’t say you’re sorry, I just—“

Moritz is cut off by Wendla’s arms around him. Slowly, he returns the hug, placing one hand in Wendla’s dark curls.

“H—How do we get out of here?” he asks. “Is—is there something more?”

“I don’t know,” Wendla replies, her voice so quiet that he could barely hear her.

It is in that moment, that Moritz notices that they are not alone in the room.

Melchior Gabor—or rather—some kind of representation of him is sitting in the center of the room. He doesn’t look real, almost as though Moritz could stick his hand right through him and he wouldn’t even feel it.

Moritz stares for a moment before he sees it. Metal—metal resting against Melchior’s neck, sharp and shining in the low light.

Moritz doesn’t waste any time, and, in a second, he has found himself where he has always belonged—at Melchior Gabor’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh, yeah? this was written a bit in a rush, because i wanted to have something so i could let you all know: i won't be uploading any fics until after july. i'm doing camp nanowrimo, which should be fun. i hope. but i'm planning to jump right back into sa fics in august, and i've started planning like. a giant fic with multiple chapters so that should be... exciting. 
> 
> please people write some sa fics while i'm gone. it's tough being one of maybe,,, two people who post sa stuff. i am starving. save me.
> 
> u H ANYWAYS leave comments or kudos if ya liked and feel free to come yell at me/ask for prompts for your sa writing that i hope you all get workin on/send ME prompts/be my friend on [tumblr](http://mohritz.tumblr.com/) !!
> 
> see you in august (i'll still be on here commenting away on every new sa fic i am sure)


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